


Parade

by seabook



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-04
Updated: 2020-02-04
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:00:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22561408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seabook/pseuds/seabook
Summary: Édouard deals with memories of his own past in a country he had only visited in lifetimes before his current one. A story about reincarnation inspired by Susumu Hirasawa's Parade.





	Parade

**Author's Note:**

> さあ 異臭を放ち来る キミの影を喰い  
> 恐怖のパレードが来る キミの名の下(もと)に
> 
> See, giving an off-smell, eating your shadow  
> A parade of fear is coming, under your name

_"Shibuya station, doors will open on the left."_

The kanji, etched into dark concrete walls flies past my eyes in a blue and white blur. My stomach lurches in waves opposite to the rhythmic clatter of the car. Beside me a salaryman busily plays a final frame of _The Mysterious Murasami Castle_ on his Gameboy. To my right a schoolgirl pens-in her eyeliner with the grace of a ninja. The rail eases to a stop, doors slide open, and I am swept out in a human tide that spills into the carnival-like station. Wide-eyed models stare vacantly from electronic billboards. The recycled air mingles with the scents of underground bakeries and cigarette smoke as lights from nearby clothing stores flickered in my vision. My legs feel rubbery on the solid ground after the swaying car. Yellow raised plastic bubbles seem to roll awkwardly under the flats of my shoes and in another moment I lurch violently.

My papers spill over my feet, snickering at my clumsiness. My hand grabs for something to steady me, but closes on nothing. A hand grabs the leather strap of my bag and another takes my hand. A woman’s voice calls. “Sir, you alright?" A swelling sea of sounds and realities washes over me.

 _… Two hundred. That’s how many lives have passed through here._ My vision is subtly altered. _I know this place …_

I grip the lacquered tea cup, filled with bitter liquid. It is etched with the sinuous shape of dragons. Hamako bows, planting her pale hands on the floor and curls her body inward. The nape of her neck is the colour of honey, softly contrasting with the white of her make up. Cicadas call on the evening breeze, fragrant with fresh cut bamboo and distant pipe smoke.  
"Hamako." I run my fingers across the tatami mat on the floor idly with my free hand. The warmth of the tea crawls up my arm. Upon hearing her name, the geisha returns smoothly to her normal sitting position.

"When I am with you, my heart is at ease," I offer in a softer voice. Away from Lord Wanibuchi, I no longer needed to show my strength here. Hamako's red lips curl in a gentle smile.

I watch her breasts rise and fall, staring at the pale hollow of her throat above the metallic reds and blues of her kimono.

"Sir, you flatter me." She whispers. I drain the tea in a moment before crawling forward toward her. "You become a different man when you're with me. Two." My body almost lies on top of hers. I am poised like a rutting deer. "Many." She adds. "For each and every geisha, you paint a new world."

She shies away from me with a gentle clink of her kanzashi hair ornament. "I'm only looking," I mumbled, staring deep into her beautiful brown eyes. The sight of relief washing across her features hurts me. Yet, this was right. We weren't meant to be.

Perhaps, in another lifetime... we would be together.

"Thank you, Hamako. You flatter me." A nearby screen door opens with a noisy clatter. A deer scare cracks sharply in the evening air. The cacophony of temple bells fills my ears in a storm.

_… Eight hundred. That’s how many lives have passed through here, now. This time you are a yakuza grunt. How far you’ve fallen!_

Ishii's yell is high pitched. "Bastard!" I dip below his punch, and my leg lashes out like a striking viper. Ishii's tattooed back slams into a worn taxi, and he slides sideways into a pile of old tires. "Anyone else want some?" I snarled at the other thugs, some of them armed with pipes or sticks.

The Shimizu clan wears tattoos of samurai alongside skulls and chrysanthemums, barely hidden by over-sized blazers and shirts. Even under the low light, I see them.

“I have nothing to lose. You aren’t going to win.” A neon sign crackles above as it shorts out. Ishii wipes blood away from his nose as two of his goons haul him back to his feet.

“I don’t care which yakuza you work for,” He gurgles. “Hands off my girl.”

I had shed my own coat, displaying a rising dragon tattooed on my back. Papers fluttered out of a nearby ramen stand, the patrons having scattered like startled birds. I roll my shoulders. I couldn’t help myself. “I’m really sorry your girlfriend blew me,” I say, wiping my thumbs across my nose. The Shimizu clan roars and charges, their blows falling like hammers upon my shoulders and arms. I gouged out an eye with one hand, the other grips someone’s topknot. The sound of flesh pounding on flesh echo between the buildings.

_… One thousand and three. That’s how many lives have passed through here. Is being an idol harder than a samurai, or a thug? How about a priest or a painter?_

The girls screamed, some of them cry. A thousand cell phone cameras pop in my face, and I can’t help licking my lower lip. Their stars burn into my eyes The screams turned into a deafening wave of sound that I can’t think around. A girl reaches out and runs her hand up my sweaty torso, popping the buttons off my shirt lazily. I was laid bare before my fans, lightheaded and delirious. The lights above and the collective heat of their bodies intoxicated me. I twirl the microphone in my hand and bring it to my lips. The amplifiers played a sugary pop beat, edged with harsh guitars and a deer scare for a beat. “I only know one way,” I croon.

The girls erupt into another wave of screaming that sweeps me away once more. _“The light of the moon, the scales of a dragon, my hand in yours. You bury your loneliness deep down in your eyes.”_ The studio lights dim, I feel myself grinning as the girls pulled in tighter around me. My vision fades, in a sea of grinning faces shining bright with tears. My knees buckle, my sneakers lose their grip on the stage floor, among glitter and wires.

 _“Sadness lies in your smile.”_ They gasp collectively when I fall and hit my back hard against the floor, its bumpy texture digs into tensed muscle. A pair of hands grip my collar and pull me back to my feet.

_… One thousand and eight. That’s how many lives have passed through here._

“Sir.” She calls. I glanced about at the Shibuya rail station, clamoring with people, lights bearing down on us in the open air. Her hands clasp my collar to keep me upright. People mercifully weave around us, to avoid stepping on my papers and bag. Her falls in a dyed amber cascade her shoulders, one end pinned up with a clasp shaped like a silver dragon.

“Don’t let me go.” I beg, feeling clammy and sick. I’m relieved when she smiles back at me, her eyes sparkling under the neon.


End file.
